


Paradise (Not Yet) Lost

by Roshwen



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Ezekiel is a bit of an asshole but what else is new, Flower power Jacob Stone to the rescue, Fluffy ending for the boys, Happy ending for the OC, M/M, No tomato plants were harmed in the making of this fic, POV Female OC, gardening is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:49:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen
Summary: How hard could it be to start an urban garden? Very hard, as Aoife is finding out. Thankfully there's this handsome Southern looking cowboy guy stopping by at that very moment. And yeah, what he's doing is a bit weird but you can't exactly argue with the results.





	Paradise (Not Yet) Lost

**Author's Note:**

> So this is all the fault of [ohHeyThereBigBadWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf) and their Flower Power!Jacob series. Blame them for whatever this is. (JK I love your fics please don't stop writing them please).

Aoife stood in her community garden, blew a lock of black hair out of her eyes and glared at her tomato plants.

They did not glare back. Instead they sat there, sadly wilting in the late afternoon sunlight and yellow leaves drooping towards the ground like an old lady finally losing the fight with gravity. They looked miserable and for all Aoife’s hard work of planting, watering, pruning and the occasional motivational speech, there still wasn’t a tomato to be seen. Which was kind of a bummer, because by now Aoife had really been looking forward to finally making her first true organic batch of marinara sauce, just so she could rub her boyfriend’s smug little bastard face in it.

‘You?’ Jerry had laughed, looking at her over the rim of his way too expensive craft beer. ‘ _You’ve_ taken up gardening? _Aoife.’_

Aoife put down her glass of wine and stared at him, once again wondering why the hell she put up with this guy. ‘Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?’

‘Because,’ Jerry had explained in that infuriatingly patient tone he always took when she told him she was going to try something new, ‘because I _know_ you, Aoife. You can’t even keep a cactus alive, and you wanna grow _vegetables?’_

And Aoife had spluttered that a cactus was _different_ and she _could_ keep a vegetable garden, she _so could, Jerry, just watch me,_ and Jerry had laughed some more and told her it was a great idea and he was _sure_ she’d make it work somehow. Then he had taken a long sip of his stupid beer so she wouldn’t see him laugh again. As if that had ever worked.

 _Just you wait,_ Aoife had thought, taking a nip of her wine which tasted like battery acid in her throat. _Just you wait. I’m going to grow vegetables, and they will be delicious. And when the first tomatoes and cucumbers are done, I’m going to make the most amazing salad ever and I’m going to eat it right in front of your stupid face and not share one bite. You prick._

But it seemed like that was not going to happen. She had no tomatoes, only a couple of pickle-sized cucumbers and in the little patch she had designated the herb garden, only the mint plant seemed to have the time of its life. All the other herbs, the basil and thyme and parsley she had planted there, were reduced to teeny-tiny little stalks of green, barely visible above the soil. Along the border, a single purple sprig of lavender was doing its best, even though it wasn’t much. Aoife had dreamed of a lush, green place where the air was heavy with the smell of flowers and herbs, where she could take a bud of whatever was growing best and roll it between her hands just to make the smell last a little longer. She’d read of people doing that and she was not going to lie, it did fit perfectly with her image of urban gardening.

But instead, the air in her tiny plot of land was thick with the scent of green and earth, sticky with humidity. And flies. There had definitely been no flies in Aoife’s fantasy garden and as she stood, staring at the sad fruits of her labor, she could feel sweat pooling at the back of her neck. It slithered down her back and towards various places she did not want to think about; if she had not forgotten to put on sunblock, she’d have had an amazing tan by tomorrow. As it was, she’d probably just get the sunburn of her life. And without any tomatoes to show for it.

In the quiet, the flies droned on.

‘Damn it,’ she said softly. Then, a little louder because there was no one here to hear anyway: ‘ _Damn_ it.’

Jerry was going to be right. And yes, Aoife loved Jerry (she did. She had to, or she wouldn’t still be dating him, of course), but she _hated_ him being right. Not in the least because Jerry was never too big a person to tell her ‘I told you so’. Repeatedly. And with great relish.

‘ _Damn. It.’_

‘You need some help there, ma’am?’

Aoife looked up. She could have sworn she had been alone, but not anymore: there was a man, standing at the edge of her garden. He was not too tall but he was sturdy, with a weathered face and a shock of dark brown hair modelled in the ancient ‘fork in electrical socket’ fashion. The plaid shirt he was wearing was rather tight around the biceps area, Aoife noticed appreciatively, and he was smiling at her with a twinkle in his blue eyes that made Aoife give him a self-deprecating grin in return. ‘What gave it away?’ she asked, gesturing to the garden of despair around her. ‘It’s not exactly Ede’s garden is it? _A circling row of goodliest trees laden with fairest fruit/Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue?_ ’

‘Milton.’ The man chuckled, his voice a warm, Southern drawl so it came out more like ‘Mil’n’. ‘You know your classics.’

‘Can’t help it.’ Aoife shrugged. ‘Kinda comes with being an art history major.’

The man quirked an appreciative eyebrow. ‘Really?’

Aoife nodded. The man’s grin could have lit up a city, which was odd. Aoife would not have taken him for an artsy type or history fan; he seemed more of the practical kind. A mechanic of some sort, someone used to working with his hands instead of poring over textbooks. But his enthusiasm was endearing all the same, which was why she continued: ‘Last month, we discussed how the Aztecs built floating gardens and managed to grow all kinds of food in them, like beans, and tomatoes, and potatoes, and more beans, and I thought, that’s cool. That’s something I want to do, so I got this garden and I thought _how hard can it be._ At least I won’t have to make it float or anything, I bet I can grow some stupid vegetables. _’_

She blew out a breath. That last bit had come out a bit more shaky than she’d anticipated, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

‘Chinampas,’ he said, still smiling. ‘And yeah. The Aztecs knew their stuff, but I’m gonna be honest with ya: if you start by calling them _stupid vegetables,_ you’re not gonna get very far.’

‘I know,’ Aoife muttered. ‘They can sense what I’m feeling, can’t they? And if they sense I don’t like them, they won’t grow?’

‘Exactly,’ the man replied, crossing his arms and leaning them on the rickety fence. He was completely serious, Aoife noticed, even though she had been half joking. ‘You gotta have the right attitude, or you’ll end up with… well. This.’ He waved a hand at the lost paradise behind her.

Aoife decided to let that slide. It was only fair. ‘Okay,’ she said. She crossed her tiny garden and held out her hand. ‘My name’s Aoife. Now, could you please tell me what I’m doing wrong, apart from having the wrong attitude?’

The man’s grip was firm and calloused; another reason Aoife put him square in the ‘hard worker’ category. ‘Aoife,’ he repeated, his pronunciation flawless. Aoife had to give him credit for that; most people either misunderstood or didn’t even bother, and just called her ‘Eve’ no matter how many times she corrected them. ‘Good to meet ya, my name’s Jacob. And sure. Give me a moment.’

He moved past her towards the drooping tomato plant. For one confusing moment, Aoife could have sworn she smelled sweet apples and honeysuckle in his wake. She turned, frowning because whoever he was, the man did _not_ seem the type to wear a flowery cologne and that smell sure as hell did not come from her wilting plants. They mostly smelled of rot and mildew, not fresh and sweet like a long summer night.

Then again, the man knew Milton when she quoted it at him. It looked like this Jacob was not all he seemed.

As she watched, Jacob knelt down, not caring about the soil getting on his jeans. One of his hands started moving over the yellowed leaves and stalks with exquisite tenderness, his fingers carefully brushing along the edges. Lifting up leaves to check underneath them with a featherlight touch, running a hand up and down the length of the stalk, slowly and soothing almost as if he was comforting a friend. Time in the garden seemed to slow down, the air growing even heavier and the buzzing of the insects becoming a long drawn out drone that grated on Aoife’s ears. She did not even realize she was holding her breath until Jacob finally, after what seemed like ages of intense quiet conversation with her tomato plant, turned around and shook his head.

‘Alright, I’ve got two questions for you,’ he started.

He did not get any further, because that was the point Aoife’s jaw dropped, her eyes widened and she started backing away ever so slowly. Because Jacob’s eyes, previously a lovely sky blue that Aoife had really liked very much indeed, were now bright green, the color of grass and the first spring leaves. And his hair, where it caught in the late afternoon sunlight, was no longer just deep brown, but shimmered with the dark green of old oak trees and deep forests where humans were not welcome.

This Jacob was _definitely_ more than he seemed. Aoife backed away, further and further until her back hit the fence, gripped by an irrational fear installed in her by two decades worth’ of her grandma Niamh’s tales. Tales of monsters, of men who were to pretty to be real, of people to fair to be true, of all kinds of terrible things that could happen on unsuspecting young maidens out on their own.

Thank god she had only given him her first name.

Heart thudding in her throat and hand searching behind her for something, _anything_ heavy and preferably iron to boot, she watched as Jacob cocked his head and frowned. ‘What’s wrong… oh damn it. It’s happened again, hasn’t it?’

Aoife swallowed. She had found a fencepost that seemed a bit looser than the others; with any luck, she’d be able to pull it out and whack whatever this guy was over the head with it if he tried anything.

‘Alright, look,’ Jacob continued, dragging a hand through his hair and scrubbing his eyes. ‘I know. It looks freaky.  Just… give me a moment and I’ll be back to normal, promise.’

Still not moving, Aoife blinked, her hand still wrapped so tight around the fence post she could feel the splinters digging into her palms. She opened her eyes again, and there it was: blue eyes and dark brown hair, as if nothing had happened.

Jacob smiled, his face bashful. ‘Sorry about that. Uhm. You alright there?’

‘What… what are you?’

Jacob’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. ‘What do you mean… ah. Aoife. Aoife o’Sullivan, is that right?’

‘How do you…’

‘They told me.’ Jacob gestured towards the tomato plants. ‘I bet you heard a lot of stories at home, didn’t you? About the old country, and the… folk that live there?’

The fencepost almost snapped right in two with the force of Aoife’s grip. ‘I sure did. And what do you mean they _told…’_

‘Could you pass me that trowel, please?’

The trowel lay at Aoife’s feet. It was a sturdy, heavy thing with sharp edges and it would have made a much better weapen than the rotten fence post.

The blade of it was also solid iron.

Aoife breathed in, cast a withering glare towards the treacherous tomatoes who apparently gave away people’s names like it was nothing, and kicked the trowel over. Jacob reached out, eyes still locked on Aoife’s, and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Leaving the wooden handle for what it was, and keeping a firm grasp on the blade instead.

Aoife breathed out. ‘OK. Yes. Alright. Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ Jacob smiled. ’Now, about those questions?’

Releasing the fence post, Aoife tucked another errant black curl behind her ear. ‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘Who’s Jerry?’

‘… They told you about Jerry?’

Jacob chuckled. ‘They told me a lot of things, darlin’.’

Aoife decided she did not want to know. ‘Boyfriend,’ she said and watched as Jacob gave noncommittal nod.

For some reason, that nod was enough to raise Aoife’s hackles again. ‘And I don’t know if they _told you_ this, but he’s actually a great guy. He’s very smart and he’s working to set up his own business so he’s got a lot on his plate right now.’

She snapped her mouth shut, daring Jacob and the tomatoes to contradict her. ‘He’s a great guy,’ she repeated and hoped it did not sound too flat.

‘Wasn’t gonna say anything,’ Jacob said gently, holding up the hand that was not still wrapped around the trowel. ‘None of my business, and I’m sure you guys are great together.’

Aoife nodded, her jaw still set. The look Jacob gave her was just a bit too shrewd for her liking and even if she hadn’t looked like a flushed and sweaty garden gnome with black frizz for hair, she wasn’t sure if she wanted anybody looking at her like that. Especially not if they had weird flower powers and knew Milton when it was quoted at them. Because she was with Jerry. And even if Jerry had initially thought she had been talking about blue cheese instead of a famous author, he was, as she had already pointed out, a great guy.

‘Second question,’ Jacob said. He stood up, a little stiffly, and let the trowel drop to the ground. ‘Why in the hell are you watering them three times a week?’

Aoife blinked. ‘Because they’re _plants._ Plants need water, don’t they?’

Jacob stood very still for a moment. Aoife had only known the guy for fifteen minutes, but she got the distinct impression he was trying very hard not to facepalm.

‘They do,’ he said, his voice impressively level. ‘Plants need water. Yes. But honey, we’re in _Oregon._ It’s not exactly the Sahara up here now, is it?’

Oops. Aoife swallowed and looked down, scuffing the (slightly damp) earth with the toe of her boot. She had _not_ thought of that.

‘It’s okay,’ Jacob continued. Aoife’s attention was still focused on the ground, but she could hear him come closer until he was standing next to her. ‘They’re not completely lost yet. I’ll ah, I’ll get them going again for ya, and then I’ll show you how to treat them properly, alright? We’re gonna make sure you’ll get your tomatoes, I promise.’

Aoife looked up. ‘You can do that?’

With a grin she could only describe as ‘shit-eating’, Jacob held up his hands and waggled his fingers. ‘Just watch me, darlin’.’

\---

If Aoife had expected Jacob to snap his fingers to make her tomatoes and cucumbers grow and ripen before her eyes, she would have been sorely disappointed. There were no explosions of rapidly increasing vegetables, no fresh stalks shooting up from the steaming earth and if she hadn’t known better, hadn’t paid as much attention as she did, she would have thought Jacob was just sitting on his knees, lost in deep conversation with her plants again.

But Aoife _was_ paying attention. And what she saw was no less magical and perhaps even more amazing than the bippity boppity boo fairy godmother fix-it-all she might have expected.

For instance, Jacob’s hair had turned green again. Not just the kind of dark green you only noticed when the light caught it, but a deep, vibrant green, the color of oak leaves and deep forest lakes and impossible to miss. One of his hands was digging deep into the earth, gently kneading it as if it were a loaf of bread. Meanwhile his other hand was running up and down the tomato plant again and while Aoife watched, she could see the sickly yellow color seep away, out of the leaves, down the stalk and into the soil. Leaving only fresh, healthy and vibrant green in its wake. And she couldn’t see it, because he was sitting with his back turned to her, but Aoife would bet a very pretty penny that Jacob’s eyes had turned bright green again as well.

All this happened in silence. The insects had long gone, Aoife knew better than to interrupt something magical in progress and aside from the soft rustle of the earth under Jacob’s hand and the wind picking up a couple of dry leaves and chasing them through the garden, everything was quiet. It was growing late too, nearing dinnertime; the sun was hanging low, casting the garden in a pale orange haze. The much healthier looking garden at that, because once Jacob had revived the tomatoes, he moved on towards the neigboring cucumbers to start whatever he was doing all over again.

Aoife just watched, spellbound. Kneading earth, stroking the stalk, softly muttering one or two phrases under his breath that she didn’t quite catch and again, the unhealthy tinge receded, the leaves perked up and the garden looked a little bit more like the picture that had been in Aoife’s head when she started out.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

The voice was low, almost as if it did not want to disturb the quiet, but Aoife still jumped. She turned around, quietly wondering if this was just one of those weird days where weird guys showed up in her garden.

This guy did not look as weird, though. He was obviously of Asian descent, with black hair, tanned skin and dark eyes that held a spark of mischief as he returned Aoife’s stare. Well-dressed too, with a bit more care than the jeans-and-flannel Jacob, who had by now moved on to the lonely sprig of lavender and the remains of the herb garden. Aoife wished him luck with that.

‘Ezekiel Jones,’ the new guy said. Which was when Aoife realized she had been staring for rather a long time. ‘I’m sorry. He does this a lot.’

‘Aoife,’ Aoife said, shaking the proffered hand. It was soft and slim, nowhere near the work-hardened callouses Jacob had had. ‘And it’s okay. He’s saving me from bitter humiliation so he can stay as long as he wants.’

Ezekiel smiled, a bright, winning kind of grin that made Aoife automatically grin back in return. ‘Hate to disappoint you, love, but we’ve got dinner plans. Cowboy over there might be able to photosynthesize his way through life, but I need pizza.’

‘Almost done, Jonesy,’ came a call from the herb garden. It sounded a bit odd, like the rustling of layers of soil under a spade, but from the way Ezekiel’s face softened Aoife could tell this wasn’t out of the ordinary either. ‘Just hurry up, cowboy! Pizza’s getting cold!’ he hollered back.

‘So.’ Aoife cleared her throat. Ezekiel turned back to her, apparently content to wait despite his protestations. ‘You said he does this a lot?’

Ezekiel nodded. ‘Yeah. Uhm. Long story, but he turned into a tree once and ever since then, it’s like. This.’ He waggled his fingers, much in the way Jacob had done earlier and made a ‘poof’ noise. ‘It’s a nightmare, honestly. Can’t go anywhere without him taking off towards some old oak tree with a splinter or a flower bed that’s been stamped on. Failing urban gardens aren’t even the worst of it.’

Aoife decided not to ask about the tree thing. Partly because she was kind of sure she wouldn’t get the full story anyway, and mostly because that was the moment Jacob finally seemed to be satisfied and sat back with a low groan, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. Ezekiel shook his head, muttered something that sounded like ‘stupid stubborn wanker’ and strode over, crouching down beside his friend.

Or, friend... One of Ezekiel’s hands came to rest on Jacob’s shoulder while the other found a place on his knee. Jacob leaned into him immediately, turning the small touch in to a kind of half-embrace and Aoife got a sneaking suspicion that, even if she had been interested and even if she hadn’t been with Jerry, she was a little too late to have any kind of chance with the flower power guy. And possibly missing some vital parts, too.

Well. Good for them. Aoife watched with a small smile as a muted conversation took place, too low for her to hear. After a while, the bright green in Jacob’s hair dulled to a dark moss color and then faded away, leaving only the dark brown bear fur from before. Even his skin tone changed, ever so slightly, which was when Aoife realized he had in fact taken on a green hue all over.

Suddenly that ‘turning into a tree’ story did not sound as implausible anymore. Aoife was ready to believe it, anyway.

Finally, Ezekiel squeezed Jacob’s shoulder and, with a grunt of effort, hauled them both upright. Guiding a still slightly unsteady Jacob towards the fence, he grinned at Aoife again. ‘I’m gonna take him out of your hair now, if that’s alright, love. He can show you how to keep your plants alive another time.’

‘Sure.’ Aoife quickly swallowed her disappointment; Jacob really did look like he needed a break. Her garden must have been in way worse shape than she thought. ‘Uhm. One more question?’

Ezekiel stopped. ‘Just one?’

‘Well, couple of million, actually.’

‘Let’s keep it at the one, love.’

Aoife narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you calling me love because you can’t say ‘Aoife’? And no, that’s not my question,’ she continued as Jacob snorted and made a cough that sounded remarkably like ‘busted’. ‘But, it’s just. Well. If he can talk to plants, uhm. Do you have any kind of… I don’t know. Thing?’

Ezekiel opened his mouth.

Ezekiel got jabbed in the ribs by a flannel-clad elbow.

Ezekiel shut his mouth again and glared. ‘What?’

Jacob looked back. ‘What’d’you mean _what?’_

‘You don’t know what I was gonna say!’

‘No, but I know she don’t wanna hear it!’

Ezekiel grumbled something dark, while Jacob turned back to Aoife. ‘I’m sorry. He’s got no _things,_ he’s just an asshole and we’d better go.’ He tugged on Ezekiel’s sleeve. ‘Come on, Jonesy. Pizza’s waiting.’

It seemed the word ‘pizza’ had the same effect on Ezekiel as Jacob’s fingers had had on the tomato plant: he perked up immediately and almost ran out of the garden, dragging Jacob along with him. Standing alone in the rapidly gathering twilight, Aoife watched them walk away.

She saw Ezekiel mutter something in Jacob’s ear and even from a distance, she could tell Jacob flushed beet-red before simultaneously bursting out laughing and trying to swat his boyfriend over the head. With practiced ease, Ezekiel ducked out of the way before straightening up again and grabbing Jacob’s hand, lacing their fingers together. That was the last Aoife saw of them before they turned a corner and disappeared from view.

She turned around and closed her eyes, vaguely wondering why they were stinging so much. The scent of apples and honeysuckle still hung in the air, almost faded away but still with a hint of sweetness clearly present. The buzzing of flies had made way for the chirping of crickets and the rustling of various twilight and nighttime critters Aoife didn’t know the name of; a tiny cacophony that was already crescendoeing and would grow even louder before long.

Aoife opened her eyes. It was almost completely dark now, and even if a third weird guy would have shown up, he would not have been able to see her smile.

‘Time to go home,’ she muttered. Her smile grew wider, until it became almost unpleasant. ‘And time for a couple of other things as well.’

\---

She broke up with Jerry the next day, over lunch at one of his favorite overpriced bistros. The tomato soup they served there was thin and sour, although it tasted like honey when she saw the look on Jerry’s face. He really was a very unattractive man when his mouth was hanging open.

That was one of the better lunches of Aoife’s life. And the soup she made herself a little over a month later, following the recipe Jacob’s brother had sent her, tasted even better.


End file.
